


You're A Balm for My Soul

by HeyYousGuys



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Hogwarts 8th year in the actual 9th year, M/M, Post-Azkaban Draco, Roommates, Still-in-Azkaban-Narcissa, Trigger warning for mentions of suicide by self-starvation, Trigger warnings for mentions of past violence and torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 07:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17158037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyYousGuys/pseuds/HeyYousGuys
Summary: "The tentative knock at his bedroom door startled Harry. After a year spent focused on rebuilding Hogwarts, followed by extensive counseling, he had been the only one to return to Hogwarts for his “8th year” this year. Ron and Hermione had finished theirs last year, what was actually their 8th year. Having taken last year off to get himself back together, Harry was now the oldest student in the history of Hogwarts and the only one in his “year group”. He would be attending two classes with the 7th years, children 2 years younger than him and many of whom he did not know. He had been allowed to take the rest of his classes as independent study courses, to give him the information he needed to complete all of his NEWTs.Harry didn’t know why anyone would be knocking on his door, especially at this hour. It was well past curfew and he had been given a room of his own, in an upstairs corridor away from all of the others. He was fairly certain that no one, apart from Headmistress McGonagall, even knew where his room was. And she would, no doubt, be asleep at this hour, given that tomorrow was the start of term and she had to rise early to prepare.So who was knocking at his door?"





	You're A Balm for My Soul

The tentative knock at his bedroom door startled Harry. After a year spent focused on rebuilding Hogwarts, followed by extensive counseling, he had been the only one to return to Hogwarts for his “8th year” this year. Ron and Hermione had finished theirs last year, what was actually their 8th year. Having taken last year off to get himself back together, Harry was now the oldest student in the history of Hogwarts and the only one in his “year group”. He would be attending two classes with the 7th years, children 2 years younger than him and many of whom he did not know. He had been allowed to take the rest of his classes as independent study courses, to give him the information he needed to complete all of his NEWTs. 

Harry didn’t know why anyone would be knocking on his door, especially at this hour. It was well past curfew and he had been given a room of his own, in an upstairs corridor away from all of the others. He was fairly certain that no one, apart from Headmistress McGonagall, even knew where his room was. And she would, no doubt, be asleep at this hour, given that tomorrow was the start of term and she had to rise early to prepare. 

So who was knocking at his door? Had a younger student, someone from the “Harry Potter Fan Club” that had already formed on the train ride here, found out where his room was? Was this the beginning of being stalked and begged for autographs and photos? He’d had enough of that when he had been in school the first time around. He didn’t need it now and certainly not at almost-midnight.

Harry pulled his bedsheets aside and crept over to the door. He put his ear to the wood and strained to listen for any noises that might indicate who his visitor was. He heard nothing. Slowly, and with much trepidation, he creaked open the door. What he saw standing in the hallway left him gobsmacked. 

It was Malfoy. 

A skinny, emaciated, and much-changed Malfoy. He looked nothing like his old self. His hair was disheveled. His robes appeared overly-worn and possibly even dirty. His cheeks were sunken in and hollow-looking. And his eyes. His eyes were the worst of all: dead inside. 

For a moment, neither spoke. And, then, in the smallest voice Harry had ever heard, Malfoy spoke up. “Minerva said that we might be rooming together.” Malfoy barely whispered, his face contrite. He stuck out his skeletal-thin hand and Harry looked down to see a paper held in it. Harry took the paper and read it. 

“Dearest Harry,  
My apologies for not informing you prior to this, but you are no longer the only 8th year to be attending Hogwarts this year. Mr. Malfoy here was released from his term at Azkaban this very evening and is required to finish his schooling, pass his NEWTs with flying colors, and seek gainful employment, as part of his “sentence of leniency”.” He paused.

Harry could practically hear the sarcasm in McGonagall’s previous sentence. Despite Harry vouching for Malfoy at his trial, he had still been given a term in Azkaban. Harry had pleaded with the Wizengamot to allow Malfoy to serve his time on house arrest at the Manor, citing Malfoy’s change of heart near the end of the War and his refusal to give Harry up when he had been taken to the Manor. But the Wizengamot had refused, stating Draco’s “attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore” as cause to imprison him. Harry knew that they were grasping at straws for any excuse to lock up as many supporters of Voldemort as they could, especially those who had received the Dark Mark. Harry had been helpless to defend Malfoy. 

He resumed reading McGonagall’s letter. “As such, you and Malfoy shall be rooming together. I know you two had a petty feud as children, but you’re both adults now. You yourself stood up for Mr. Malfoy at his trial. And he gave several interviews from prison, praising your bravery and sacrifice during the War. I am under the presumption that this means that you and he can now be civil. If this is not the case, please instruct him to report to the Slytherin dormitories, where he can bunk with the 7th years there.  
Sincerely,  
Minerva” 

Harry looked up from the letter to see Malfoy waiting patiently, making no move to enter the room. Harry studied him, noticing every single change in Malfoy. There were no positive changes. The broken shell of a man in front of him was nowhere near the arrogant, well-groomed, and, quite honestly, fit boy that Harry had once known. Harry wasn’t sure what to make of Malfoy now. And the longer Harry waited, the more defeated Malfoy looked. 

Finally, Malfoy sighed and said weakly, “I understand. I’ll go to the dungeons now.” 

He began to turn around, but Harry thrust out a hand to stop him. He clutched at a thin arm that didn’t feel like it belonged to Malfoy. And all he could think to say was: “Blimey, Malfoy, didn’t they feed you at all in Azkaban?” 

Malfoy shut his eyes and Harry could see tears forming near the corners. Malfoy gave a weak shrug and tried to pull his arm from Harry’s grasp. “I’ll see you later, Potter,” he mumbled. 

“No! Wait!” Harry tightened his grip. “Please, don’t go.” 

Malfoy looked at Harry, utterly perplexed. “But why?”

“Why what?” Harry tilted his head in confusion.

“Why are you letting me in?” Malfoy’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I don’t deserve a nice, cozy room alongside the Chosen One. I deserved a cramped, crowded room in the dungeons.”

“Malfoy, get your skinny arse into our room now! Before Filch comes by and starts trying to fuss about students being out of bed.” Harry had to make a joke. He had to lighten the mood. The tension between them was so thick, it was practically choking Harry. He had to joke just to be able to breathe. 

Malfoy nodded weakly and plodded into the room on heavy feet. Harry noticed that he didn’t have any luggage with him. No trunk. No owl. Nothing but the threadbare robes on his back. It worried Harry. Did Malfoy have any possessions at all anymore? Had the Ministry confiscated the Malfoys’ property? If so, why hadn’t they returned anything in the last year? 

“Malfoy?” Harry asked shyly, not wanting to be rude but needing to ask. “Where are your things? Haven’t you got a trunk?” Malfoy hung his head in shame and trundled over to the sofa, laying down upon it and turning away from Harry. Harry’s heart broke. 

Malfoy’s lack of reply was all the answer that Harry needed. Malfoy had nothing anymore. Malfoy was practically nothing himself. And Harry had no idea how to approach him. He simply laid down on his bed and pretended to sleep. Harry supposed that neither of them slept that well that night.

\- - -

The following morning, Harry awoke from a fitful sleep and glanced over at the couch. It was empty. It didn’t even look as though anyone had sat upon it, let alone slept on it for 6 hours. Had he dreamed it all? Was Malfoy really here or had Harry simply been wishing he was, just for someone to keep him company? 

Harry was honest enough with himself to admit that, while Malfoy had often been a complete git and sometimes was a downright arse, Harry had always fancied him. He would’ve never acted on it as a child. But it was always there. And it had only gotten worse after Malfoy and, then, Narcissa had both saved him. It had been easy to ignore his crush when he thought that the Malfoys hated him and that there was no hope. But, a year and a half ago, when Malfoy and Narcissa had both protected him, Harry had been forced to admit that there was hope. And that had been more maddening than thinking that they hated him. 

Harry got up slowly and dragged himself to his private bath for a quick shower before breakfast. He was looking forward to the start-of-term feast. Minerva had informed him a week ago that he would be sitting at the staff table, to save him from being swarmed by curious students, who would no doubt be clamoring to speak to their Savior. 

Harry was glad of it. Now, at 19, he had no desire to sit with younger students and pretend to have anything in common with them. Perhaps he could’ve found common ground with the 7th years, a handful of whom had fought in the War. But, mostly, he would’ve felt as out of place as a muggle at a Quidditch match. 

Harry made his way into the Great Hall and up to the staff table. He stopped just short. There, sitting beside what was to be Harry’s seat, was Malfoy. So it hadn’t been a dream then? Harry and Malfoy really were roommates this year. And, Harry supposed, classmates as well. That would certainly make things more interesting, having a partner in his classes and someone to study with. Harry wondered if Malfoy and he would have the same schedule. He guessed that they might, but he couldn’t be sure. 

He smiled jovially as he took his seat next to Malfoy. “Morning,” Harry said politely. To this, Malfoy only gave a small nod. He chewed slowly, in small bites, as though eating was too laborious for him. Harry wondered, once more, if Malfoy had been starved in prison. 

Just as Harry was wracking his brain to think of something to engage Malfoy in conversation, Professor McGonagall stood and took her place in front of all of the students.

She greeted the student body, especially the first years. She explained about Harry and Malfoy’s situations. She told the other students that they were not bother either man. That the two were here to finish their education, an education that had robbed from them through no fault of their own, and that, despite both boys being famous, no one was to bother them or photograph them without their permission. 

Throughout the speech, Minverva referred to Malfoy as “Draco”. It made sense, of course, given that the Draco was his name. But it felt strange to Harry. He had always called him “Malfoy”, never “Draco”. But Minerva had always called him “Mr. Potter”, not “Harry”. And called Malfoy “Mr. Malfoy”. She was now calling Harry “Harry”. And, it seemed, calling Malfoy “Draco”. Harry wondered briefly if he ought to make an effort to do the same, but he put it out of his mind. It would be too weird to call Malfoy “Draco” just now. Perhaps best to wait until they were better acquainted. And Harry very much hoped that they would become better acquainted.

McGonagall then called the First Years forward to begin the Sorting Ceremony. As Harry watched one first-year after another being sorted, he noticed that Malfoy hadn’t eaten much. He turned his attention to his new roommate and smiled politely.  
“Are you not hungry, Malfoy?” he inquired kindly. Malfoy shrugged. “Are you ill?” Harry’s voice was filled with concern. Malfoy’s eyes flitted up and met his, confusion written on Malfoy’s face. 

“You needn’t worry about me, Potter,” Malfoy responded weakly, his frame collapsed in on itself. 

“But I do worry,” Harry said shyly. The look Malfoy gave him made his heart soar. For a moment, Malfoy seemed somewhat alive. He quirked a weak smile at Harry before turning back to his plate and resuming eating. It wasn’t much, but it made Harry happy to see Malfoy attempting to take care of himself. 

Harry gently put a hand on Malfoy’s arm and squeezed. Malfoy paused in bringing a piece of bacon to his mouth, his eyes on Harry’s hand grasping his arm, but said nothing. Harry beamed radiantly, but turned his attention back to the Sorting Ceremony.

\- - -

Harry had been correct in his assumption that he and Malfoy would have the same schedule. They had Herbology and Divination with the 7th years. They had Arithmancy, Potions, Magical Theory, Transfigurations, and Alchemy as independent studies. Harry had taken courses that he might not have otherwise taken, since he had no idea what he wanted to do now that the War was over. He didn’t know why Malfoy was given all of the same classes, but he was glad of it. He would have a study buddy and, perhaps, a friend with him at all times now. 

He had missed constantly having a friend next to him while Ron and Hermione had been attending their 8th year. Harry, shut up all alone most days in Grimmauld Place, didn’t care much for loneliness. It brought back wretched memories of the abuse he’d suffered under the Dursleys. He had grown accustomed, in his first 6 years at Hogwarts, to having someone always by his side.  
After a first day of classes that could only be described as “dreadfully awkward”, as he and Malfoy worked side by side with barely a word spoken, Harry vowed to make an effort to get to know this new Malfoy. He actually found himself missing Malfoy’s sneers and insults. The longer Harry spent with this morose, half-shell of Malfoy, the more depressed Harry became. He wanted Malfoy to talk to him. He wanted Malfoy to smile. He wanted… 

… Malfoy to be his friend.

Harry laughed as the realization hit him. Two years ago, it would’ve been unthinkable. He and Malfoy friends? But, it seemed, that was precisely what Harry’s heart wanted. He just needed to find a way to ascertain it.

\- - -

Harry was growing increasingly frustrated. It had been a week and he had made little progress. After two nights of Malfoy sleeping on the couch, Harry had made arrangements for a second bed to be brought into the room. Harry had reorganized everything he had to make room for Malfoy. 

That had been a mistake. Malfoy had nothing. And, seeing his empty side of the room, Malfoy had burst into silent tears and buried his head under his pillow. He hadn’t spoken a word for two days after that. Harry felt like a complete arse.

To make it up to him, Harry had owled several shopkeepers in Hogsmeade and had parcels delivered to the castle for Malfoy. If Malfoy had possessions on his side of the room, Harry thought, he might feel more at home here and be happier. 

That had also been a mistake. Malfoy had become angry, seeing all of the gifts that Harry had gotten him. He had demanded that Harry return them all and get his money back. Harry didn’t want his money back. He wanted Malfoy to be happy. But he had no idea how to make that happen.

Finally, a week after Malfoy had moved in and term had started, a plan occurred to Harry. It was risky. It might not work at all. It might even make matters worse. But he had to try. 

\- - -

Harry made his way to the owlery, letter in hand, and sought out the fastest post owl that Hogwarts had. He then sat down and waited, knowing a reply would either come quickly or never at all. 

Fifteen minutes later, the owl returned. A delicately tied ribbon around its leg held a neatly folded piece of parchment. Harry untied it and hastily unfolded the letter.

“Mr. Potter,  
I have to say that I am both surprised and not surprised at all to receive your letter. When I heard that Draco would be going back to Hogwarts at the same time that you were, I was both pleased and worried. I know it must seem as though my emotions are overly complicated. Perhaps they are. Draco always said I was overly complicated. But I must admit that he is as well. 

Now, to the point of my reply: I appreciate your desire to cheer Draco up and befriend him. I wish I could tell you exactly how to do this. But I don’t even know myself. Draco has a flare for the dramatic, which often translates into his being completely unpredictable. Things that would one day make him happy will infuriate him the next. He can be downright maddening. Though never boring. Life with Draco is always interesting, as I hope you’ll eventually find out for yourself.

As his best friend, I should know what makes him tick. But I’m afraid I don’t. Azkaban changed him, as you well know. He and I exchanged letters regularly but I’m not sure even I know him anymore. I can only give you the following advice, based on who he was before he went to prison:

-His worst fault is Pride. He will never admit weakness, even when it smacks him in the face. Don’t treat him like a wounded animal or a charity case, he’ll hate you for it.

-Along the same theme: he has nothing left of his old life. His family’s possessions were confiscated during the trials. His father died in prison, refusing to eat even the little food that prisoners were fed. His mother still languishes in prison, on the verge of starvation herself. Prisoners are not fed well and the Malfoys seem to be particularly self-injurious, refusing to eat at times when they think they don’t deserve it. I heard Narcissa’s grief over her husband’s death has devastated her. She may well die soon herself.

-The best thing you can do for Draco is simply be there for him. Not with words, not with presents. But simply by being there. A touch, a smile, a kind word, whatever you’ve got, Potter.

-Lastly, and this stays between us, he’s crazy about you. Always has been. He thinks he’s not good enough for you, though, so he’ll never act on it. When you rejected his friendship back in first year, it hurt him more than you could ever know. He may never get over it. He may never think he’s worthy enough for you. Please show him how wrong he is. I’ve always thought you two would be perfect for one another. 

Good luck,  
Pansy” 

Harry read the last piece of advice over and over. Malfoy was crazy about him. Malfoy maybe even fancied him, though Pansy had not explicitly said so. Harry sat in the owlery for several minutes, simply smiling to himself. He was still rereading the last piece of advice when another letter arrived for him.

“Harry,  
My apologies for writing again so soon. But please give the enclosed letter to Draco for me. Read it yourself first, if you wish, and then pass it on to Draco. I won’t be telling him that we’ve written to one another. But I want to help you. He needs someone that’ll be there for him. And it would be best if it were you, Harry.  
Lots of love,  
Pans.”

How they had gone from enemies to “lots of love”, Harry did not know. He was only grateful for Pansy’s help in the matter. He carefully unfolded Pansy’s letter to Draco and read it. 

“My dearest Draco,  
I hope you are well. I’m sorry that I haven’t written in the past two weeks. I’m sure it was hard, being used to getting letters from me daily and then hearing nothing for two weeks. But I knew you were being released and heading back to Hogwarts, so I wanted to give you time to settle in. 

I wish I was there with you, my friend. Oh, the adventures we would have! I could come up with so many new ways to torture Saint Potter, just so you could see him squirm! You always did like seeing him all riled up. 

Speaking of the Golden Boy, I hear you’re roommates now. I’m sure you’re secretly in heaven, though you’d never admit it to anyone, not even me. But I know you well enough to know how happy you must be just to be near him.  
He’s a good man, Draco. You can trust him. 

If 6 years of observing the prat taught me anything, it’s this: he fancies you, too. Please don’t mistake his kindness for pity. He genuinely wants to be your friend, though he probably has no idea how. 

And I know you well, my dear. You’ll reject every gesture of kindness from him. Whether it’s because you’re too proud (which you are), you think he’s just being nice because he has a savior complex (infuriatingly enough, he does, but that’s another matter), or because you think you don’t deserve his kindness (you fucking do, by the way. Don’t argue with me!). Promise me that you will let him be kind to you. If the poorly disguised stares across the Great Hall at mealtime were anything to go by, he’s been into you for a very long time. 

Let him in, Draco. You deserve happiness, my dear.  
All my love,  
Pans”

Harry gently refolded the letter and gave it to an owl to deliver straight to Malfoy. He sat back and thought about how his plan had worked, ludicrous though he had thought it to be. He hadn’t known what he would do next, if Pansy refused to help him or, worse, if she told Malfoy what he was up to. He had written to Pansy without knowing how it would be received. But no one knew Malfoy better than Pansy, except maybe for Narcissa.

Narcissa! Harry sat bolt upright. Narcissa was starving herself. She may well soon die, Pansy had said. Harry had to do something. Narcissa had saved him, he had to save her. He owed her that much. He now knew what the second phase of his plan had to be!

Harry ran down through the castle, out onto the grounds, and through the gates as fast as he could. He got outside of the wards and quickly apparated to the edge of the island that housed Azkaban. He needed to visit Narcissa, to convince her to live. He had to do this for Malfoy. Harry knew that if Narcissa died, Malfoy might well be next. 

As he followed a guard down the long, dark corridor, Harry felt a terrible sense of dread. There were more dementors now than there had been before, as there were now more prisoners than there had been before the War. Harry hated being here. His skin was crawling, his soul was dying, and he wanted to run as far away as possible. He couldn’t imagine how Narcissa and Malfoy had survived a whole year here. He understood now why Malfoy was so pale and wan and dead looking. 

Harry followed the guard down a row of thick iron doors. There were windows, where guards could peek inside each cell. But the thick iron walls kept all sound contained inside. If a prisoner were yelling, whether from insanity or from torture, the guards didn’t have to hear it in the corridors. It made Harry to shudder to think what might happen if someone called for help in an emergency.

“You there!” the guard shouted, opening the door to a cell and slamming the door shut after Harry stepped in. “You have a visitor! Get up, woman!” The guard shouted at Narcissa cruelly. Harry put a hand on the guard’s arm to stop him. The guard turned to him, surprised, but shut his mouth and quickly scurried to the side, standing vigilant.

“Mr. Potter?” Narcissa inquired weakly. Harry squinted in the dimly lit cell and, with horror, saw that Narcissa was in even worse shape than her son. 

“Mrs. Malfoy. Are you all right?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. He made a motion toward her, as though going over to help her but she put her hand up to stop him.

“I’m fine, Mr. Potter,” she said formally. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

“Let’s stop with formalities!” Harry’s voice was firmer than he had intended. Narcissa started at his harsh tone. “Narcissa, you can’t keep refusing food! I know you’re sad about Lucius. You have every right to be! But Draco needs you! He can’t lose you, too! Please, for the sake of your son, eat!” Harry hadn’t meant to be so frank, but there was something about their desolate surroundings and the barely-alive woman in front of him that made him desperate to cut out the pleasantries and get straight to the truth.

“Since when do you care about my family, Mr. Potter?” Narcissa, who had been standing out of a sense of propriety before, now collapsed onto a small bed in her cell, not quite strong enough to continue holding herself up. Harry remained standing, rooted to the spot just inside the door.

“If I’m being honest, I’ve cared for Draco for a very long time.” Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him at these words. He had never admitted it out loud before. But it was true: he fancied Draco and had done for a long while.

“And this is why you’d like me to take care of myself?” Narcissa inquired. Her mask of formality was dropped completely. Sitting in front of Harry was a very real, honest and broken Narcissa Malfoy.

“Yes!” Harry insisted. “That and, well, … I owe you. For lying to Voldemort. For telling him that I was dead when you knew I was alive.”

“I did that for my son,” Narcissa spoke quickly, on the defensive.

“I know.” Harry countered. “While I am glad that you inadvertently saved my life, I’m also glad that you did it to find Draco and bring him to safety. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he had died.” Narcissa looked up, her face a mask of shock. Harry suddenly realized that he was crying, something his therapist had been trying to get him to do all year. 

“You should see him, Narcissa!” Harry said, striding over and sitting next to Narcissa on the bed. The guard made a move to intervene, but Harry waved him off. “He’s so skinny that he’s practically a skeleton! He barely eats. He cries all the time. And I don’t know what to do! He’s so sad. And I have no way to fix it! I wish I knew how!” Tears continued to pour out of Harry’s eyes, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even wipe them away. Being honest with Narcissa was more therapeutic than any session he’d ever had with his therapist. 

“You can’t die! You just can’t! If you die, then he’ll die. And I can’t live without him, Narcissa. I can’t. Even if he rejects me and wants nothing to do with me and hates me forever, at least I’ll know he’s alive and well somewhere. But if you die, he won’t be. And I can’t live without him. Please.” 

Narcissa suddenly wrapped her arms around Harry. She was crying, too. She couldn’t speak for the barrage of tears pouring from her eyes. For a long time, they simply sat and cried together, Narcissa rocking Harry as though he were a young child in need of comfort. Harry, for once in his life, allowed himself to coddled like this. He had never known the gentle affection of a mother who truly loved her son. Now, he relished the feeling. 

Once their tears had subsided long enough for them to speak properly, Narcissa ceased rocking them and sat back, slumping heavily against the wall. “Harry, it’s so good to see you,” Narcissa said, as though they were old friends.

“It’s lovely to see you, too, Narcissa,” Harry replied, also slumping back. He was emotionally and physically exhausted. 

“Please, call me Cissa,” Narcissa offered. “We are, I’d like to think, friends now.” 

“Of course, Cissa,” Harry replied with a smile.

“You are a sweet boy!” Cissa beamed at him. “We’d always heard of your greatness, of course. Your reputation was always that you were polite and well mannered and kind. But I’m afraid, after Draco was so wounded at your rejection of his friendship and Lucius so offended at the way you chose the Weasleys over us, that we never wanted to believe in your goodness, Harry. I could tell from the way my Draco spoke of you that he admired you, though he would never admit this. But Lucius was arrogant and stubborn. He never wanted to accept that you might be a good person. But that was probably down to the fact that he was not a good person.”

At this, Harry’s expression morphed into one of shock. Narcissa Malfoy was saying that her husband had not been a good person? Why then was she starving herself over his death?

“I know what you must be thinking,” Cissa continued. “How could I say that my husband was a bad man? You and I are being honest with one another right now, Harry. And the honest truth is that Lucius was a terrible person. It was driven by insecurities and a desire to always win and fit in and be admired. It doesn’t make it right at all. But I understand why he did the things he did.”

“Ours was an arranged marriage. I had no desire to marry Lucius. We were content at best. But never happy. After I had Draco, I told Lucius that I would no longer sleep with him. I had produced a male heir. And if he needed… release… he could seek that elsewhere and I wouldn’t make a fuss. I had no desire to follow his commands and decisions. But it was my wifely duty. I wanted no part of the Dark Lord or his followers. But Lucius chose that path for us and I was forced to follow.”

“Oh, I know it seems silly,” she laughed derisively, “to be the obedient little wife. But that’s how I was brought up. I was taught to be subservient to my husband and do whatever he told me to do. But it killed me to see Draco raised among Death Eaters and in such a vile, toxic environment. I wanted better for my son, I just simply couldn’t fight back enough to give him that.”

“I am not starving myself because Lucius is dead. We’re being honest, Harry. And the truth is that I couldn’t care less that Lucius is dead. It’s a relief, if I’m being honest with myself.”

“So why then?” Harry had to interrupt. “Why are you starving yourself?” 

“As punishment for never standing up to my husband and demanding a better life for our son. Perhaps if I had, Draco would not have spent a year here, wasting away and being broken. It kills me to see what has become of my dear son. And I’m to blame for that, I suppose.”

“But you’re not!” Harry exclaimed, surprising both Cissa and the guard. “The Wizengamot is to blame! I told them Draco never wanted to be a Death Eater, that he was forced into it. I told them that he saved me and that he lied to Voldemort and that he had even hidden in the castle during the last battle and fought on our side. 

“But they wouldn’t listen! They wanted to punish anyone and everyone they could, especially Voldemort’s inner circle. They wanted to make an example of you all! And it wasn’t fair! Lucius might have deserved this place, but you and Draco never did!” The tears were back. But this time, they were tears of fury and rage. Harry realized then just how livid he had been that Cissa and Draco had been punished at all. If it weren’t for them, Harry would be dead and Voldemort would be in power. They deserved so much better than they got.

Two hours and many more truths later, Harry said goodbye to Cissa. He promised her that he would try his hardest to cheer Draco up and she promised him in return that she would eat and get healthier. He promised to write to Andromeda and see if she would be willing to get to know her sister again. Cissa promised to write to Draco and convince him to let Harry in. Harry promised that he would try his best to get Cissa out of Azkaban. In return, she promised that she would always love him like a mother to a son, no matter what happened between him and Draco. It was the most cathartic day he’d had in a long time. For once, Harry felt hopeful about the future.

\- - -

That night, Harry and Draco lay in their beds in silence, as they always did. Harry was still soaring with hopefulness from his visit to Cissa. But he was also nervous about how to approach Draco and begin helping him. Harry tossed and turned, trying to quieten his mind so that he could sleep. But his mind raced with possible plan after possible plan. 

“Will you keep still?” Draco demanded from across the room. Harry stilled and waited, wondering if he angered Draco. “I can’t sleep either, but you don’t hear me shuffling about, messing up my bedcovers.” Draco didn’t sound angry, only annoyed.

“You sound like your old self,” Harry commented, smiling radiantly.

“Perhaps I have cause to be hopeful, seeing as how you insist upon meddling in my life.” Draco sneered. In the past, Harry would’ve bristled at this, knowing Malfoy was being a prat. But now Harry could hear the teasing behind Draco’s words. “Tell me, Potter, was it only Pansy and my mother, or did you visit every member of my old life and inquire about me?” 

“Just Pans and Cissa,” Harry said, teasing right back.

“Oh, it’s Pans and Cissa now, is it? So familiar with my mum and best friend, you are!” Harry didn’t know what to say. He had no idea how to talk to a joking, seemingly kind Malfoy. And he hadn’t expected Malfoy to realize that Harry had written to Pansy or visited Narcissa. Pansy had said that she wouldn’t tell Malfoy that Harry had written to her. And, while Cissa hadn’t explicitly said that she wouldn’t tell her son that Harry had visited, she had implied it. Harry wasn’t sure how much Malfoy actually knew and how much he was reading between the lines and guessing. “Good night, Potter,” Malfoy broke the silence. Draco, it seemed, was not revealing how much he knew for sure. 

Harry rolled over one last time and heard Malfoy sigh dramatically, as though put out at Harry’s tossing and turning. Harry chuckled to himself before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. It was the best sleep he’d gotten since Malfoy had turned up at his door. 

\- - -

Harry awoke before Malfoy the next morning, a first. He quietly crept into the bathroom, showered, and got ready for his day. As he emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, he jumped as he came face to face with a grumpy looking Malfoy. “You are the loudest human being who has ever existed,” Malfoy said testily before striding into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. 

Harry remained frozen to the spot for several minutes, confused. Was Malfoy angry with him? Or was Malfoy teasing him? Harry didn’t know how to take Malfoy, now that they were beginning a tentative friendship. His instincts told him that Malfoy was angry with Harry for waking him up. But Malfoy had been sarcastic last night when it seemed that he was angry then as well. Was this also sarcasm? Harry had no idea how to take Malfoy. 

“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” Malfoy cracked the door open and popped his head out. “I can hear you thinking from in here. Must you do everything so loudly in the morning?” Malfoy winked and Harry cracked a smile. “Good! Now that you’re not stupefied by your own thoughts, you can get ready and, perhaps, we’ll be able to head down to breakfast at the same time? Assuming, of course, that you don’t start thinking again. You Gryffindors did always have trouble moving and thinking at the same time. But, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll eventually be coordinated enough to do both at once.” With a grin and a wink, Malfoy closed the bathroom door. Harry laughed and continued getting ready for the day. 

Harry was sitting on his bed, waiting, when Malfoy emerged from the bathroom looking so much like his old self that it nearly made Harry cry. Malfoy looked at him shyly and was taken aback by Harry’s expression. 

“Did I really look that bad before?” Malfoy asked, his voice small and vulnerable.

“Do you want honesty, like your mother, or would you rather kindness, like Pansy?” Harry asked.

“Honesty, I suppose,” was Malfoy’s very serious response.

“Yes. You did look that bad before. It scared me. Hell, Malfoy, I was so worried about you that I wrote to Pansy!”  
Malfoy chuckled humorlessly. “I was wondering how you two had communicated. I couldn’t imagine Pans meeting you for tea and forgiveness. I should’ve known it would be via owl. She always did prefer to hide her face when being humble.” He paused and then gazed at Harry with concern. “But… my mother?” he inquired.

“Yes… well… perhaps after breakfast? We don’t want to miss it.” Harry shrugged, not quite ready for that heavy of a conversation. Malfoy nodded slowly and then extended his arm, as though to escort a lady somewhere. Harry laughed and rolled his eyes, swatting lightly at Malfoy’s arm. Malfoy’s returning smile was radiant and it made Harry’s heart soar. 

While time together during breakfast and their classes wasn’t exactly as easy as it would be with close friends, it was a definite improvement to how awkward things had been for the past week. They bumped elbows, rather than shrinking into themselves and taking up as little space as possible. They jokingly toasted to House unity at meals and clinked their glasses together with a smile. They even helped each other during their independent study courses. It wasn’t an easy friendship, Harry was still on edge wondering what might set Malfoy off and make him angry, but it was leaps and bounds better than in years past. 

\- - -

The nearer they drew to their room that evening, the more nervous Harry became. He knew he’d have to tell Malfoy about his visit to Azkaban. Did Malfoy know how thin his mother had become? Should Harry protect him by not mentioning it? Harry wouldn’t tell Malfoy what Cissa had said about Lucius, but should he tell him the others things said between them? Surely, Malfoy would ask. And Harry was rubbish at lying. Malfoy would see right through him. 

As they closed the door and dropped their school books, Harry practically fell onto his bed. Malfoy sat elegantly, though still somewhat weakly, upon his own bed. Since the sofa had been moved out, the beds were the only place to sit. Harry was just glad that there was some distance between them. That might make this easier. 

“Go ahead and ask what you want to ask, Malfoy. Let’s just get this over with.” Harry moaned.

“Was it really that bad? Seeing my mother?” Malfoy was practically in tears, concern for his mother evident all over his face. Harry rolled over and looked at the ceiling.

“No! Not at all! It was lovely, actually. She’s a wonderful woman. It’s just… we discussed some things that I don’t think you should know about. And I’m rubbish at lying. So… I really don’t want to have this discussion with you.” 

“Harry,” at this, Harry’s head snapped up so quickly that he was sure he would have whiplash. “What?” Malfoy asked in response.

“You called me Harry,” Harry replied dumbly.

“It is your name,” Malfoy said matter-of-factly. But Harry could see that Malfoy seemed nervous, wondering how his change in addressing Harry would be taken. Harry simply smiled and laid back on the bed. 

“Go on, Draco,” he encouraged. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco smile. 

“I was going to say that I won’t pry. If you say you can’t tell me, I will respect that. I’d rather know even a little than push your patience and have you tell me nothing.” Harry nodded appreciatively. He hadn’t expected Draco to be so reasonable. 

“Well, in that case, I will tell you as much as I can. What do you want to know?”

Draco’s look faltered for a moment before it was replaced by a mask of stone indifference. Harry had seen that look on Malfoy before. He was trying to be strong. Harry hated it. He didn’t want strength and indifference, he wanted more of the same honesty he’d gotten from Cissa yesterday. 

“No!” Harry stated firmly, causing Draco to jump and look at him bewildered. “Don’t do that, Draco! Don’t put up the walls and shut yourself off! I won’t have it! I had a lovely time with your mother yesterday, crying and being honest and being vulnerable. You don’t have to be strong with me, Draco. I don’t want strength and distance. I want to share with you what I shared with your mother. Don’t you dare close yourself off from me!” 

This seemed to confuse Draco further. Harry surmised that Draco had no idea how demanding and selfish Harry could be when he wanted to. But Harry refused to have a polite, detached discussion tonight. Harry waited with baited breath to see if he had ruined his chance at having an open talk with Draco. 

Slowly, Draco came over to his bed. He quirked an eyebrow in question, asking if it was okay to join Harry on the bed. Harry nodded and smiled sweetly. Draco climbed in, but faced away from Harry. “I don’t do vulnerability well, Harry,” Draco practically whispered. Harry strained to listen. “I was taught that it’s a weakness that is not to be tolerated. It was beaten out of me, practically tortured out of me. I was to always be strong and be a man. So please forgive me if I don’t do this well. I will try, Harry. For you and for my mother. But I might not know how. Forgive me if I accidentally close myself off again.”

“Of course, Draco,” Harry whispered, moving closer and putting a tentative hand on Draco’s arm. Draco flinched slightly, but then seemed to relax under the touch. 

“How is my mother?” Draco asked, his voice already straining with tears.

“The truth, right?” Harry inquired.

“The truth.”

“She’s not well right now, Draco. She’s thinner than I’ve ever seen her.” At this, Harry heard Draco begin crying. He felt the man, who now seemed like a small boy, shaking underneath his hand. Harry wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he scooted closer and pulled Draco into him, cuddling him and comforting him as best he could. Draco didn’t relax at all, but he didn’t push Harry away either. That seemed like progress to Harry. “She promised me, though, that she would begin eating more. Before I left, that is. We made several promises to one another. She is going to try to take care of herself, Draco. For you.”

“Thank you,” Draco whispered, a hand coming up to rest on one of Harry’s arms. “What else did you discuss?”

“You. Your father. Her sister.” Harry felt Draco tense at this. “Andromeda, not Bellatrix. We talked of how Dromeda is doing and little Teddy as well. But, mostly, we talked about you.”

“Why?” Draco almost couldn’t speak through his tears now.

“Why what?” Harry inquired, holding Draco tighter.

“Why did you go see her?” 

“Oh…” Harry paused and drew in a steadying breath. “Well, Pansy said she wasn’t doing well in prison. Pansy was worried about her. And about you. So I thought… well, your mother saved my life. I owed it to her.”

“That’s all? Just a life debt?” Draco’s voice was measured and careful. Harry knew there was more to the question that Draco was not asking.

“No, that’s not all. Sure, your mother saved my life and I will never stop owing her for that. But, if I’m being as honest with you as I was with her, I went to see her to beg her to get better… for you, Draco. I couldn’t stand to see you so broken and sad. You’d lost your father and I didn’t want you to lose your mother as well.”

“My father was an arse and I’m glad he’s gone.” At this, Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. Draco stiffened in his arms. “Is that funny?”

“No. Not at all,” Harry clarified quickly. “But it’s what your mother said.” To Harry’s surprise, Draco turned and rolled over to face him. Harry could see the openness in Draco’s expression now. 

“She did always hate him.” Draco replied.

“She didn’t always hate him,” Harry countered. Draco’s eyebrows rose in incredulity. “She didn’t love him, but there were time, she said, when she was content.” 

“Not in recent years,” Draco supplied.

“Probably not. But she wasn’t always miserable, Draco. She had you. She loves you more than anything else in this world.”

“I know,” Draco whispered, smiling slightly for the first time.They simply stared at each other for several moments, so open and so honest. Harry found that it was nice to be so vulnerable while holding Draco in his arms. He fervently hoped that this wasn’t the last time they’d find themselves like this.

“Harry?” Draco whispered after a moment.

“Yes, Draco?”

“Was it awful, hearing how much my mum loved me when you never had a chance to know your mother?”

“Not at all,” Harry smiled genuinely. “I’ll admit: growing up, I was jealous of how much your parents seem to love and care for you.” Draco laughed ironically at this.

“I was so jealous of you. I never would’ve guessed that you were jealous of me, too.”

“We were both stupid gits,” Harry laughed.

“We both still are,” Draco added.

“Your mum, Draco, she… she held me and rocked me as we cried together. It felt so lovely. I’ve never had anyone care for me like that. Mrs. Weasley loves me like her own sons, but she’s not the hands-on, coddling sort. And your Aunt Andromeda is motherly to me in a ‘bake me cookies’ and ‘ask about my day’ sort of way. But Cissa… I felt like a child again. But, this time, I was a child who was cared for and loved completely. It was so lovely.”

“You weren’t cared for as a child?” Draco seemed concerned.

“My aunt and uncle who raised me starved me often. I was made to do chores and be more like a house elf than a human to them. And my cousin liked to tease me and beat me up. It wasn’t a happy childhood at all.” 

Draco’s face was alight with shock and anger. “I was so jealous of the famous, spoiled Potter. I hated you for how loved you were! And it wasn’t even a little true at all.”

“You had everything I’d ever wanted. You had parents who paid attention to you and loved you. Though I’m sure your father didn’t love you in the way that he should have. But I think he did love you, Draco.”

“I’m honestly not entirely sure that my father was capable of love. But I think he tried to love me. I guess I was lucky in that regard.” Draco paused before cautiously putting a hand on Harry’s cheek. “Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry to hear about how badly you were abused as a child. If I could, I would take it all back.”

“If I could, I would take back all of your suffering in the past few years.” At this, Draco tensed. “I’m sorry,” Harry added quickly.

“It’s okay,” Draco said, rolling back to face away from Harry. For a moment, Harry’s heart dropped, thinking he had just ruined everything. But then Draco scooted back into him and pulled Harry’s arm tight around him. “I’m going to be honest with you, Harry. But I can’t look at you as I do so. I hope you’ll forgive that.”

“Of course, Draco,” Harry said softly, squeezing Draco tighter to him. Draco left out of a sigh of relief.

“I wanted to die in Azkaban.” He paused as he felt Harry tense behind him. “I’m sorry, but I had to tell you the truth.” Harry began rubbing soothing circles on Draco’s chest. “It was awful in there and I hate that my mother is still stuck in there. My father took the cowardly way out, which is the only reason I decided to survive. I didn’t want to be anything like him. So I survived.”

“I’m glad you did,” Harry whispered. 

“So am I.”

They lay there, Harry holding tightly to Draco in silence, for what seemed like days, but might have only been hours. Finally, Draco shifted in Harry’s arm and turned to face him. “Sorry, but I need to use the loo.”

“No need to apologize,” Harry replied.

“It’s just… I like laying with you like this. And I don’t… well, when I come back, that is…”

“Draco,” Harry said firmly, stopping Draco’s nervous babbling, “I’m going to get changed into my pajamas and then use the loo when you’re done. I expect you to also change into your pajamas. When I return, I hope that we can resume our current positions.”

“Perhaps all night?” Draco asked hopefully.

“And every night from here on out?” Harry furthered. 

The smile that greeted him from Draco’s face was nearly blinding. Harry thought his heart might burst from sheer happiness. Draco quickly kissed the tip of his nose before rolling out of the bed and heading into the adjoining bathroom. Harry, though he had said he would be changing into his pajamas, couldn’t move from euphoria. 

After much cajoling from Draco for being a “softy” and “sentimental prat”, Harry found himself ready for bed. He crawled into bed with Draco and immediately pulled him into his arms. They turned out of the lights and pulled the covers around themselves. 

“If I could go back in time and tell myself that I would have this one day, my past self would never believe it,” Harry said reverently. 

“Same,” Draco added. “Harry, I want to thank you.”

“For what?”

“If I had gone home after prison, I wouldn’t have healed like this. I mean, not that I’m healed… that will probably be a long road. But you’ve been like a balm for my soul this past week. Even before tonight… before I got the letters from Pansy and my mum, I was feeling far better than I had in months. And that was down to you.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Draco. As awful as I was to you at times, I’ve always secretly cared for you.”

“I know the feeling, Potty,” Draco said mockingly, his voice affecting its old haughtiness. 

Harry laughed and placed a sweet kiss on Draco’s cheek. Draco gasped and shivered in Harry’s arms. He rolled over to face Harry and smiled. “Let’s try that again, shall we?” Draco asked. “And this time, we both participate,” he said lightly.

“Definitely,” Harry agreed before sealing his mouth over Draco’s. 

They still had a long road of healing ahead of them. But they would heal together. And that was better than any therapist or potion could ever achieve.


End file.
